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Kai Diamonde adopted the swagger of a man at ease in his domain.
‘What’s different about this game at Wimbledon?’ He asked.
‘The English guy’s winning!’ Glen volleyed back with a hint of facetious spin.
‘Take a closer look,’ Diamonde responded with a straight racket.
There didn’t appear to be anything out of the ordinary. The white clad players were engaged in battle. The centre-court grass was its usual vibrant green except for the bare, activity laden patches and Hawk-Eye was tracking balls with its trusted precision. The line judges were occupying their positions and as would be expected on such a hot day the crowd sported a plethora of summer hats and short sleeved garments.
‘Well it’s sunny,’ Mower pathetically offered. The glare he received coaxed another attempt at hitting the bull. It then struck him like a stray racket to the back of the head. ‘The players wait ages to receive balls between points,’ he observed. ‘The ball boys and girls are taking longer to…in fact, there’s only one ball boy and girl. There’s usually a whole bloody team of them!’
‘Game, set and match to Hover.’
‘Where are they, the rest of them?’
‘Isaac Newton,’ Diamonde replied.
‘Isaac Newton?’
‘The History Maintenance Commission have alerted the All England Club at Wimbledon that the law of gravity might soon no longer apply. You see, one of the Route 1066 time-traveller pillocks seems to have persuaded Isaac Newton that he has Malus Domesticaphobia, the fear of apples, so there’s every possibility that he will no longer discover the theory of gravity if visiting orchards is off his bucket list.’
At that moment the Brit won his service game and pictures switched from centre-court to the large, patriotic crowd assembled in party mode on the hill just outside the tennis complex. Amongst the throng was someone in the distinctive navy, green and purple uniform of a Wimbledon ballgirl.
‘They’re all over the place,’ Kai explained. ‘They have to be as at any moment gravity could be undiscovered. Nobody could then be certain of where any ball will land once struck or even if it would land at all.’
‘But, surely, if Newton failed to discover gravity someone else would later have done that?’
‘Oh,’ Diamonde replied contemptuously. ‘I honestly don’t know why historical figures bother, when someone else would’ve come along soon after to do the same thing. Thank God we don’t all think that way. The statue makers would be out of work.’
Just then, Glen Mower looked through his living room window and seen a Wimbledon ballboy perched on the wall of his neighbour opposite, keeping an attentive eye for stray balls from the direction of Wimbledon many miles away.
‘Christ,’ he exclaimed, ‘in Maidstone, too!’
‘The influence and power of our arm of The United Nations Security Council is everywhere,’ Kai explained.
‘Our?’ Glen asked tremulously, as if not really wanting the answer. ‘You seem to keep including me in this?’
‘Here,’ Diamonde declared removing a large file from his bag and dropping it into Mower’s lap. ‘Take a look at this. It’s some of the literature we have acquired from that completely irresponsible time-travel company serving future wealthy pillocks, Route 1066.’
Glen was allowed chance to digest the first few pages and did so with mouth agape, though not for too long in case an errant tennis ball with topspin lodged there.
Jonty Morgan Humourist 